


Soft-Hearted

by radtoro



Series: Something Stupid [1]
Category: GOT7
Genre: (jinyoung and jackson), AU, Alternate Universe, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Jackson's POV, M/M, One-Sided Attraction, Pining, Roommates, Songfic, based in America, only rated teen for swearing and drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-24
Updated: 2018-03-24
Packaged: 2019-04-07 01:52:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14070303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/radtoro/pseuds/radtoro
Summary: "And then I go and spoil it all by saying something stupid like 'I love you.'"- Inspired by the song "Something Stupid"[ 1 / 6 ]





	Soft-Hearted

**Author's Note:**

> i'd been looking for something to inspire me for a jinson, and Something Stupid was the perfect dose of it! just sad and sappy enough for me to really have fun haha! I hope you enjoy it!!
> 
> [ [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=azD62fSZHG4) ] is the song that inspired me!

“Let me start from the beginning,” Jinyoung says, but only after he has drunk half his tea. In fact, he is still catching his breath from the chug, and I can see the flush in his cheeks from where the warmth is spreading throughout him. Seeing him rosy like this is a good thing, because he’s always so cold, from his fingers to expression. His hands are wrapped tightly around his mug (the special one I got him for Christmas that looks like a watermelon), trying to bring color back to them. If there wasn’t the kitchen table between us, his hands would be on me somehow because (in his words) I’m always warm. He made me keep his hands in my jacket on the bus ride to the grocery store last week, then tucked a hand under my legs on the way back.

“Please do,” I say, gesturing with my hand for him to go on. “I could tell from your punctuation-less, essay of a text that I’d get a dramatic re-telling.” The draw I take of my tea gets interrupted by the kick I receive.

“Shut the hell up or I’m not telling you,” he says, mouth frowning but eyes glinting with humor. When he closes his mouth, the frown turns into a pout, but it’s not purposeful. His lips are merely shaped like that. Smooth, round, plump. Pinker from the hot tea.

I giggle at him, which gets him smiling. Jinyoung has always been dramatic by nature, but, after years of being his roommate and best friend, I know exactly how to take him down a peg (sometimes I think I’m the only one who can). “Fine.” I display a small, tight-lipped smile, then zip it closed and toss away the key.

“So,” Jinyoung starts, sitting well-postured across from me, “there’s that new club that opened downtown, right? I’d been thinking about it ever since you told me about it, wondering when I should go and, yeah, honestly, thinking about inviting Jaebum to go with me.” (Jaebum is his hot co-worker, the music reviewer for the online paper where Jinyoung works as an editor. He's been trying since he was first hired to muster up to the balls to ask Jaebum out, but a part of me is happy he hadn't until now. The guy just _looks_ like a heartbreaker.) “But, you know how it is with him. It’s like I’m on a waiting list to talk to him, let alone go dancing with him. Fucking ridiculous. Anyway, earlier today, I saw him as I was leaving work--”

“And by that, you mean casually walking the wrong way out so that you pass his cubicle?” I quirk an eyebrow. He's so hopeless for the men he crushes on.

Jinyoung’s eyes flash with anger, and he purses his lips. But then, he exhales as a rueful digression. “Yes. I walked around my block of cubicles and up to his desk. I poked my head in and said, ‘Later, Jaebum,’ and he said, ‘Oh, you’re leaving so soon?’ and I was like, ‘Yeah,’ and then I paused, trying to decide whether I should invite him to go out tonight. God, if I could turn back time, I would shut my own mouth. I asked him if he’d been to that club yet, and he said he hadn’t, but that he was interested. So then I said, ‘Well, I’m going to check it out tonight.’” He dips his voice down to the flirty octave. “‘Maybe I’ll save you a dance.’”

I make a face of approval, brows furrowed and lips puckered. “Smooth.”

Jinyoung nods, proud of himself. “I know. But here’s the best part: he said,” he glances me up and down, imitating what Jaebum’s face must’ve been like, “‘Sounds like something I’d be sorry to miss.’”

I make a noise of excitement, eyebrows up to my hairline. “Oh, wow!”

“I know,” Jinyoung says. “So, I come home and start getting ready to go dancing.”

“And that’s when you texted me.” I nod, pointing lazily.

He nods his head. “Right.”

“So, wait,” I say. “Stand up quick and let me see your outfit.”

He furrows his thick brows at me, leaning back in his chair with a self-conscious hand over his shirt. “Why?”

“Because I’ll know what you wanted to get out of the night by your outfit, but my memory is poor.” I go to duck my head under the table, but he kicks my leg. I wince and rub the spot. “Just, if it was those little pants that accentuate your butt, then I could tell you wanted to go home with him. But I can tell by that button-up that you were going for casual, I’m-not-trying-to-be-sexy sexy. And honestly, I’m glad you’re not wearing your ‘first date shirt,’ that, you know, that flowy, blouse-y shirt--”

“It’s not a blouse!” Jinyoung immediately rebuts. “I bought it from the men’s section.”

“The _gay_ men’s section,” I say, bringing my mug to my lips.

He huffs. “You’re one to talk, Mr. Loud-And-Proud, I-Wear-A-Million-Earrings-And-A-Ring-On-Each-Finger.”

My hand unconsciously flies to my ear, but then I lower it as soon as it raised, spotting the two rings on my hand in its blur. I tuck my fingers under my thigh. “Well,” I say, eyes on my cup instead of my friend, “ _I_ think you’re avoiding the subject.”

Jinyoung rolls his eyes. “I think you can guess what I wanted from the night, Jackson. But I wasn’t going to try too hard for it, because even if I looked my best, he’d still have a better chance of taking someone else home than me.”

I put my hand over his. “For the record, you always look your best.”

He smiles with half his mouth. “Thanks. But anyway. I got to the club right as it was starting to gain some life. I had a soda, because I knew that if I started drinking while waiting for him, I’d be beyond tipsy when he got there. I went up and danced to a song, then sat back down until I was asked to dance. You know that line they always give me?”

“The one about how you're too pretty to sit still or something?”

Jinyoung rolls his eyes. “So fucking tired of it. Anyway. When I got off the dance floor after dancing with that guy, I spotted Jaebum by the front and, God... My chest just swelled and my stomach was buzzing and then he saw me and _smiled_...” He pats his chest and rests his hand there. “And then we danced. We danced song after song, smiling at each other, standing so, so close. I could smell his cologne on him, different than the one he wears to work. Muskier, more bitter. We pointed out pretty boys that couldn’t dance and laughed to ourselves, then stood by in awe while others out-danced _everyone_ and got a whole little audience to clap along. And then, when we were tired out, we went and sat at the bar. He leaned over to try and tell me something, but I couldn’t hear him, and then he couldn’t hear me say that I couldn’t hear him.” He lets out a small chuckle. “So, then, he grabbed my wrist and led me out of the club. Once we were on the curb, before I could even ask, he said, ‘Let’s go somewhere quiet where we can sit and talk.’ I agreed, and then we were on our way down the sidewalk. He was so gorgeous tonight, just enough sweat on his skin to make him glisten, just tired enough to smile easily at me.

“Finally, after walking in a comfortable, exhausted kind of silence, we made it to the bar. It was a high-end place, glass fixtures everywhere and waitresses in little black skirts. We sat down and just... talked. He’s so intelligent, Jackson. He talked for a whole ten minutes about music, what makes it sound good. He went to college for that, did you know? Sound engineering. And he loves to sing, too. His eyes got so bright and happy, telling me about the projects he did in college, writing his own music and singing for only himself.

“‘You should come with me to my favorite karaoke bar,’ he said to me. ‘Who knows, maybe after a few drinks, you’ll get up there with me.’ And then he smiled that cheeky, charming smile, like he knows exactly how fucking handsome he is.

“But I shook my head at him. 'No, no... I couldn't get up in front of all those people.’

“‘Oh, don’t be so shy,’ he said to me, leaning in close. ‘And besides, I'd be up there with you.’ And then he put his hand over mine where it sat on the table, tracing little lines over my knuckles. ‘The rest of the world will disappear.’ He was so close, I could feel the heat of his cheeks, could smell the alcohol on his lips.

“I asked, ‘What would we sing?’ because I didn’t have anything better to say, and he said, ‘Nothing too hard, something from the sixties, something like...’”

Jinyoung pauses, shaking his head. “And then he started singing to me.”

I almost roll my eyes. That's such an asshole move, but, “Sounds romantic,” I say instead.

“It so, so was. He started off at talking volume, but as he went on, it turned into this soft hum. It was so intimate and special, like it was just for me. I felt so _blissful_ under his eyes, with his voice melting around me, and I guess he saw it on my face. He cracked a small, genuine, beautiful smile at me, and I just--”

Jinyoung plants his forehead on the table, right next to his watermelon mug. “I was so tipsy. I was tipsy on cocktails and drunk on his voice and high on the adrenaline from dancing and… _God!_ ” He bumps his head once on the table. “It was such a nice evening, such a beautiful moment, and then I go and spoil it all by saying something _stupid_ like ‘I love you.’”

My eyes nearly bug out of my head. “You--? You what?” I shake my head, sure I heard him wrong. “You told him--?” I say, strained and confused and-- “You love him? You’re in love with him?”

Jinyoung lifts his head but covers it with his hands. Elbows planted on the table, chin supported by his hands, he nods. “Yes,” he says, sounding choked-up. “Yeah, I am. And I ruined it.”

I sit stock-still for a moment. Up until this point, I was under the impression that there was a thicker line between crushing on someone and loving them. Jinyoung _loved_ this guy? After a Christmas party, a charity luncheon, and the couple times he'd ‘lent’ Jaebum a power bar, he's in love? It baffles me, shakes my head up until I feel dizzy.

“Well,” I ask, finally regaining my words, “what happened after you said it?”

“He instantly,” Jinyoung removes his hands from his face, revealing tears of embarrassment and a somber expression, “ _instantly_ stopped singing. And then it was silent. Dead, awful, _embarrassing_ silent, where he just looked at me, confused and a little flattered for a second. I think he might’ve been waiting for me to finish with _‘youu...r singing voice.’_ But I didn’t. I just sat there like a dumbass, mouth opening and closing, looking for something like that to cover it up with. And then he got it. It happened so quick. The little smile he had worn all night dropped from his face and then he was looking at me like I was crazy, and--” Jinyoung rests his forehead in his hands, eyes on the table. “and then I bolted. I threw my tipping money on the table and stormed out of the place.”

“You just left him there?!”

He nods. “Yeah. It didn’t even feel like I was doing it. My legs just sprung me up and ran.”

I shook my head. “Jinyoung...”

“I know,” he says.

I lean back in my seat and fold my arms. “I--” I exhaled, shaking my head still.

He presses his hands over the rest of his face, muffling his words. “ _I know_.”

My mouth is open, but I don’t know what I’m trying to say. I want to comfort him, because he’s my friend, because he’d do the same if I were in his place. I want to feel sad for him and embarrassed for him--which I am, don’t get me wrong--but the first thing I feel is anger towards Jaebum, because Jinyoung didn’t fall in love by himself. I’m angry at Jaebum for not loving him back, for leading on the soft-hearted man I call my dearest friend. I hate him. I hate him so much I could spit.

But, as the moment ticks on, I grow angrier at myself. Instead of standing and pulling my friend into a hug, or cursing Jaebum out, or even cracking a joke in attempt to make him smile, I do nothing. I sit there and let myself feel sorry for myself, even though it doesn’t make sense.

“It’s not fair,” I say, but for all the wrong reasons. It’s not fair that Jaebum doesn’t love him back, yes, but that’s not why I say it. I say it because if Jinyoung should be saying ‘I love you’ to anyone, it should be to me.

Because I loved him first.

 

 

We had been at some party, just a year after we'd moved in together. Far past we'd found a rhythm in each other, we’d become inseparable. A package deal. The house party was held in the apartment of a work friend, back before Jinyoung got the job at the online newspaper. I remember him not being particularly fond of the host, but he would not deny the opportunity to have a free drink.

I had danced for a while, but quickly grew tired of the Pitbull song that began playing (and the scrawny boy I was dancing with). I searched for Jinyoung but it didn’t take long to find him. He was where I always found him at parties like these; on the arm of a couch tucked away in the corner, with something in his hand so fruity that it was bitter.

He had dressed up so well that night: an elegantly oversized, dark button-up surrounded him in a way that made him look angelic, but the way he let it hang off his shoulder to reveal the form-fitting black of his t-shirt suggested something of the opposite. This was when he'd first made the discovery of how well tight jeans fit him. But, it wasn’t so much that the pants fit _him_ as he fit in the _pants_. Sure, they were nice jeans, made with some stretch to accentuate just the right way, but him in them was what made it so sexy. He has the legs of a dancer and the ass of a stripper, a combination that, arguably, doesn't need accentuation. But, accentuate, he did that night, and cursed, I was ever since.

He saw me when I approached, but I poked him on the shoulder anyway.

“What?” he shouted over the music.

“You look too hot tonight to sit still.” I grinned at him, a little tipsy and a lot flirty.

Jinyoung rolled his eyes. “Come up with a better line and I might believe you.” He folded his arms, frown on his barely-stubbled chin. “That’s the _third time_ I've heard that tonight.”

“Well, then, maybe it's true,” I said, grabbing his hands. I pulled him off the couch--literally _pulled--_ and started dragging him towards the speakers.

He tried to loosen my grip, albeit weakly. “Jackson, it’s too loud.”

“What?” I called back.

“This song is shit!” he shouted, and once I read his lips, I couldn't help but agree.

“Fine!” I shouted, then made a sharp turn away from the makeshift dancefloor. He went more willingly with me now, but was still hesitant, I could tell. I stopped at the shades covering the sliding doors to the balcony, then pushed them away to get to the handle. He finally yanked his wrist from my grip.

“What are you doing?” he asked me. We didn’t have to shout this far away from the commotion, but he still leaned in to speak.

“It’s quiet out here,” I said, then slid the stiff door open. I stepped out to the unused and dirty balcony, then turned around and waved for him to follow.

He glanced around for the hosts of the party, then at me unsurely, but came out anyway. I pulled the door shut behind him.

There wasn’t much space out there, and it was blackened from street pollution. An abandoned grill was tucked in the corner and some of those cheap, white, plastic lawn chairs were stacked beside it. The railing's paint was chipping, and there seemed to be mildew here and there on the ceiling. The noise of cars rushing by and the muffled party inside cancelled each other out, leaving us with dull city noise. The two of us fit comfortably out here, romantically lit by the cracks in the curtains inside.

“Here,” I said, pulling out my phone. I opened up my music and played what was our favorite song at the moment.

Jinyoung's eyes were on the sky, but he smiled with a hummed laugh. “Good choice.”

I allowed myself a proud smile, then started to step to the music. I bopped my head and did small shimmies toward him.

Jinyoung elbowed me away from him. “What are you doing?”

“It's quiet out here,” I said, “and this is a song that is actually worth a dance.” I held out a hand to him. “C'mon.”

“Look at the stars tonight,” he said, as if I hadn't said a word. “It’s like a sky full of fairy lights.”

I quit dancing in favor of leaning on the railing next to him. I looked out and up, and found that he was right, although I wasn't surprised; this building was on the outskirts of the city. There were less streetlamps and pollution clouding our view.

“I’m trying to remember all the constellations I learned in high school,” he said, eyes squinted and focused. “I’m too tipsy to, though.” He covered half his face with a hand and chuckled.

I giggled and leaned into him, much closer to drunk than he was. His shoulder felt soft under my cheek, the same one that was left open by his purposefully too-big shirt. I could smell the cologne on his clothes, familiar and surrounding. If I leaned in though, I could smell _him_ , his natural pheromones all over his skin. This was driving me crazy at the time (and it still does now), but I couldn’t pinpoint why at that moment. I didn’t know why the top of my stomach was fizzing while the bottom boiled hotter the closer I got to him.

Jinyoung backed away from the balcony’s edge, grabbing my hands from the railing as well. He stepped back and forth to the rhythm of the song playing from my phone. I danced with him, acutely aware of his hands in mine. They felt foreign and thrilling, like a small piece of uncharted territory in a vast, unknown sea of skin before me. My own hands were tingling at the tips, just looking at him and feeling the feeling that I only felt around him. That’s when I knew. It dawned on me that he wasn’t _just_ my roommate to me or _just_ my best friend. He was my whole world. He was the person I wanted to share every dance with, the thing that beats in my chest. I loved him, I realized. The feeling struck me, stunned me, and left me dizzy like nothing I had ever experienced before.

He grinned in the soft way he only does at me (which didn’t make me any less dizzy). I had to crank my dancing down to a sway. “Your hands are warm.” He twisted his hands so that I covered them more with mine. “How? It’s so cold out here.”

I was speechless (which was a first), overwhelmed and lost within my own emotions. I didn’t even try opening my mouth. I took his hands and held them at my chest, inside my jacket and over my heart.

There was a little quirk in his smile when I did this. “Thanks,” he said. “That surprised me.”

“Oh?” I ended up mouthing, my own voice betraying me when he opened up his hands and splayed them flat over my chest.

“I thought you’d say something about being hot-blooded,” he said, “or that your hands are hot because you are.”

I giggled and he laughed, and then we were just swaying to the music. His hands under my jacket grounded my body, but my head was soaring. I felt the whole world turning, just for him, just for this second that I knew it was love that burned me up when I looked at him. I didn’t see the dingy balcony anymore, just him and the sky and the stars. The stars that turned red as I leaned into him.

My forehead landed on his chest and his arms naturally wrapped around me, under my jacket. My breath became thinner and thinner, as if my lungs were shrinking. My heart felt sore from growing to be the gruesome size it was. I gripped a fistful of his big shirt, sure I would lose my footing if I didn't.

I heard myself say, “I love you, Jinyoung,” but there wasn’t any double take from him. He didn’t reject me or wince as he explained why he didn’t want me. I peeked up at him, dumb and drunk and hopeful.

He smiled at me, as beautiful as he had ever been. “I love you, too, Jackson,” he said, then looked back out to the stars. “You’re the brother I never had.”

 

 

“It's not,” Jinyoung says, staring off behind me. He bites his lips and tightens his fist on the table. He looks at me then, straight in the eyes, miserable. A tear drops from his left eye, then his right. “But since when has love been fucking fair?”

**Author's Note:**

> hey, thanks for reading! if there's anything i could've done better, or anything you really like, please let me know; feedback is always welcome (=^_^=)


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